Saint George
by Serene Pirate
Summary: The war is won, and the bad guys are destroyed, but what does George Weasley feel about all of this? Oneshot.


_The pain was unbearable. A scream pierced the night, and he was ashamed of his weakness, but oh, the pain, the jabbing pain. The side of his head was on fire, and he wasn't sure if he could hold onto his broom for much longer…something gripped his arm, and the hand was warm to the chill he suddenly was experiencing…but the hand was losing its grip, the owner struggling to win both sides of the battle…would Lupin get out of it alive? Would _he_ get out of it alive? It didn't seem likely…_

And then the scene changed…

_The gaping hole in the side of his head no longer shocked him as it once had, but he still wanted to puke every time he looked in the mirror, as he was now. How could he function as a normal person with one ear missing? Everybody who looked at him seemed to do so with an expression mixed with pity and disgust…that was not the reaction he wanted to inspire in people. He wanted to make them laugh. And nobody would laugh at him for fear of hurting his feelings._

_Only Fred was different. Fred didn't care which appendages were still attached to his twin, so long as he had one good ear for listening, a mouth to speak out of, and a brain to come up with ideas._

_Suddenly, there was two of him in the reflection. One was missing an ear, while one was whole. A long, healthy life ahead of the second one. A life that was not filled with jeers or pity. But suddenly the second reflection's face changed. It was a face of horror, of torture, of pain._

"_Where were you?" the second reflection asked. "Harry was there…Hermione was there…Ron was there…even Percy was there. Why weren't you there?"_

"_I…I'm sorry," George choked out at his twin reflection, the one he had thought understood him so well. "I was in the passageway…Kingsley told me to be there…I had no idea something like this would happen…"_

"_Of course you did," the reflection retorted fiercely. "It was a bloody war, wasn't it? How could you, George? How could you…" The voice trailed off as the second reflection shrunk to sizes smaller, smaller, until it was no bigger than an ant, and it disappeared into the hole on the side of George's head…and then the hole grew bigger and bigger, until it popped out of the mirror, and it swallowed up everything, nothing mattered anymore, the whole world was an endless void…_

"Oi! George! You said you were taking me to the shop today, remember?"

George sat up straight in bed with a gasp, and he realized that cold sweat was pouring down his arms as the shadows of fear and desperation from his dream clung to his consciousness. It took him a moment to realize what was going on, but when he did, he turned to Ron with a scowl.

"I told you not to wake me up, you git," he replied. "Cripples need their sleep." That being said, he swiftly lay back down and turned his body so that he was facing away from his younger brother.

It soon became apparent, however, that Ron would not leave. "But…you promised. You said I could help," he said, defiantly, and then added, "And besides that, it's one in the afternoon. I've already had to tell Hermione and Harry to wait another week four times already. It has to be today, George."

"It doesn't 'have' to be any day at all. I'm doing you a bloody favor. Now let me sleep."

Ron rolled his eyes and muttered a few choice words under his breath as he stalked out of the bedroom that had once been shared by two, but now belonged to one, and slammed the door.

George breathed a sigh of relief, but soon found he could not go back to sleep. The words from his dream kept sneaking into the back of his mind, and they haunted his very existence. Why did it have to happen to him? Why now? Why so close together? Why could nobody answer his questions? Why? Why? Why?

He could never let the others see him like this. Mum would be a wreck again, Dad would go around and brood again, Percy would begin to mutter to himself like a house elf again, Ron would clench his fists and swear at the memory of the Death Eaters again, and Ginny would cry silent tears again. They were all under the impression that he could function normally without his twin. They believed he was fine and dandy about losing an ear. They thought he had gotten over all of this weeks ago.

But he would never be able to function normally. Nobody else understood him the way George had, nobody knew the exact reason why he had to joke around to mask his feelings. Nobody else could comprehend the loss of such a seemingly useless, yet completely vital, organ as the ear.

Nobody seemed to be able to grasp the concept that he could never get over any of this. They had lost a son and brother; George had lost something much more important. It was like losing another part of his body, one that he could barely live without, and was one of a kind. His nose, maybe, or a part of his brain.

But he would bloody well be damned if he let the joke shop go to waste after all of this. It held too many memories, symbolized too many things. If Fred knew that George was about ready to give up the joke shop, he would knock George's feeble excuses of "I can't do it by myself" or "I don't think I can go on" and hex his other ear off.

So Ron was recruited. And now George was regretting his choice; the git would not shut up about it at all. The only time he ever talked about anything else was to talk about Hermione or announce that he was going to go to the bathroom, but he would be right back, so don't go over any business plans without him.

And that hurt. A lot. Not the bathroom part, of course, but hearing about Hermione. Well, not about Hermione in particular, but just the way Ron was talking about her all of a sudden. It was one of those corny loves, and George would never be able to have one of those—women would take one look at the place where his ear was supposed to be and run away screaming. George wanted a corny love. He wanted another ear. He wanted his twin back.

Was that too much to ask for?


End file.
